


patience rewarded

by valiantlybold



Series: wolf in lark's clothing [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Cock Cages, Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Eavesdropping, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Foreshadowing, Hair-pulling, Kept Boys, Kinda, M/M, Masturbation, Mob Boss Jaskier, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Polyamorous relationship, Polyamory, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sub Lambert, Voyeurism, butt virgin geralt, geralt is a pillow princess and u can fight me on it, kept boy eskel, kept boy geralt, kept boy lambert, ominous conversations, sub eskel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22940959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantlybold/pseuds/valiantlybold
Summary: Geralt's been wearing a cock cage for three weeks and he is gettingdesperate.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Series: wolf in lark's clothing [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640455
Comments: 20
Kudos: 460





	patience rewarded

Geralt’s dick _aches._

He’s been wearing a cage for three weeks now. It’s even got a little padlock on it, the key hanging safely on a chain around Jaskier’s neck.

He’s almost in real pain.

It doesn’t help that Jaskier’s been working him over for three weeks straight; playing with him, teasing him, keeping him in the cage but still bringing him right to the edge, only to leave him without release.

One moderately sized gust of wind, and Geralt _will_ cum in his pants.

He can’t take it anymore. It’s too much, he’s going crazy.

But he knows it’ll be _so good_ if he just endures it a little longer. He knows Jaskier will give him the best reward for his patience, for being a good boy and following orders.

And at least he’s not the only one suffering.

_Eskel and Lambert are in the exact same position._

Geralt just happens to be suffering more acutely at the moment, seeing as he’s got Jaskier perched in his lap.

He tries so hard not to think about how good if would feel to slide home into this perfect little body.

He tries. He really does.

And he tries to keep his hands to himself. He really does.

But Jaskier’s waist is just so inviting.

Geralt can’t help himself.

Jaskier hums, focused on his laptop.

And Geralt’s hands move of their own accord.

From Jaskier’s waist, down to his hips, and gives him a nudge, rocking him in Geralt’s lap.

It takes everything Geralt has in him not to fucking cry.

Jaskier says nothing but starts moving.

He rocks his body on his own, grinding down on Geralt’s lap and his caged cock.

Fuck, Geralt wants to die.

Jaskier tuts at him as he grits out a groan. “Be good for me now, darling,” he says. “Maybe you’ll get a reward after I’m done here.”

Geralt bites his tongue. He leans forward, arms wrapping around Jaskier, nosing up into his hair and kissing at his neck.

 _“Geralt,”_ Jaskier warns.

“Hm.”

He paws at Jaskier’s chest and between his thighs, his cock thickening in his slacks under Geralt’s hand.

Jaskier lets out a sigh.

_“Switch.”_

Geralt growls.

But he knows better than to disobey.

He stands up with Jaskier. He nips at the man’s neck, then detaches himself. While Eskel and Lambert push and shove over who will be the next seat cushion, Geralt throws himself down on the couch recently placed along the wall, to the right of Jaskier’s desk.

His dick fucking _begs_ for mercy, and he wants nothing more in the world than to _get hard and get off._

But if he whines about it, he’ll just have to endure it longer, _to learn his lesson, as Jaskier puts it._

His hand strays down to his crotch, still. He palms aimlessly at himself as if it will ease his discomfort, even knowing full well that _it won’t._

“Uncomfortable?” Jaskier asks conversationally.

“Yes,” Geralt bites out.

_“Good.”_

Geralt growls.

He rolls over onto his front, burying his face in one of the throw-pillows. He groans and ruts against the cushions. He can’t help himself.

He isn’t used to wearing the cage for such a long period of time. He’s worn it before, yes, but only for a few days at a time, at the most. The longest he’s worn it before is four days.

Three weeks ago, Jaskier posed _this_ to him, wearing it until Jaskier decides to let him take it off. Geralt agreed, thinking it would be maybe a week. Of course, he can tap out whenever he wants to; he can say the safeword and take a break, or call it quits completely, whichever he needs. He just needs to say so, and he knows that.

But he wants to be good.

He wants to be good for Jaskier, and earn his reward.

Geralt tears his eyes open, looking over towards the desk. Jaskier looks back at him. He watches Geralt rut against the cushions like a horny teen, like a dumb animal who doesn’t know better.

Geralt isn’t ashamed enough to stop.

“Needy boy,” Jaskier hums.

Geralt clings to the couch arm. Pleasure tingles in his gut. He can feel it trying to build up to something _proper,_ but the cage won’t let him get there. It won’t let him get past just the slightest tingles.

“Stop.”

The man grits his teeth. He forces himself to stop and sit up. He pants. He’s out of breath just from how fucking _horny_ he is.

Jaskier sips his tea. He leans back, settling against Lambert’s broad chest. Lambert nuzzles against his neck.

“I’ll make you a deal, Geralt,” Jaskier says.

Geralt’s heart pounds.

“If you can give yourself an orgasm just from your prostate, I will let you take off the cage."

Geralt’s never really done that. He’s taken a finger or two in the past, in previous engagements, but it’s never been… _the main event,_ so to say.

But it’s a way out, without safewording.

And _that_ is a victory.

“Would you like to try that, darling?”

Geralt nods.

A smile fills Jaskier’s face. “Go take a shower for me, love. Fetch some lube. And have look in the closet, maybe there’s some toys you’d like to try.”

Geralt swallows.

He gets up and leaves the office quickly. He showers first, and gets as ready as he can. Then, he goes to the closet in the bedroom, and not the walk-in closet that Jaskier actually uses for its intended purpose. No, he goes to the closet which contains the man’s large collection of toys.

After a moment of consideration, he selects a small, simple plug. It’s a good start, he decides. If he enjoys it, he can work up to trying some of their other playthings.

Lube and toy in hand, he goes quickly back to the office, only a towel tied around his waist.

Eskel and Lambert have been busy, it seems. They have moved the couch. Now, it sits in front of Jaskier’s desk, facing him. Geralt knows without asking, where he is wanted.

He unwraps the towel and lays it own on the couch, hoping to spare the cushions.

Jaskier watches with a smirk.

He sits alone in his chair, the other boys standing at either his sides. Geralt’s spots the key. It lays on the desk. So close, but so far out of reach.

Jaskier leans back. He put his feet up on his desk and sips his tea.

“Go on,” he says.

Geralt swallows.

He sits down on the towel and tries to get in a comfortable position. He ends up laying on his side, one leg hitched up on the back of the couch. He tries very hard not to blush at the fact that he’s being watched.

He focuses on the task at hand, instead.

He wets his fingers, and reaches from behind. He bites his cheeks as he slides the pad of his index finger over his rim. He controls his breathing; slow and steady. It takes him a minute to feel ready, but when he does, he presses inside.

His finger slips in rather easily. He only lets it go to the second knuckle, starting slow. Geralt pushes and pulls and lets his body get used to the feeling.

It isn’t bad, he always knew that, but now, when he’s half-crazed with lust and forever trapped on the verge of orgasm, it feels amazing. It’s like his brain is overjoyed at just being allowed to feel _anything at all,_ that anything he feels immediately registers as _good._

A breathy moan leaves him unbidden as he pushes deeper.

“Take a second one for me, love,” Jaskier says lowly. “If you’re ready.”

Geralt bites his tongue and nods.

He pulls out slowly, and the next time he presses back inside, it is with two fingers. His body twists, metal cock cage jingling, and he tries to hide his face in the throw-pillows.

“No, no, darling, let me see your face,” he is ordered with a gentle voice.

Geralt’s cock throbs against the cage, balls aching. He feels like he’s about to burst.

His fingers dig into the couch cushions. He scissors himself open, moaning at the slight little tugs at his rim.

Fuck, now he just needs to find the angle to reach his prostate.

He fucks himself lazily on his fingers, feeling, searching, body rolling unconsciously into the motions.

He’s breathless. His chest heaves and his lungs ache with the effort it takes to inhale a proper breath.

A broken moan breaks out of him, and he knows he has found the perfect angle, his fingers brushing against his prostate. Pleasure zips through him like a current through a steel wire and it ends at the base of his cock, and God, he fucking _hurts_ with how badly he needs to get hard.

“Use the toy, dear,” Jaskier advises. “You’ll reach better.”

Geralt bites his lip and nods. He had to choke down the noise that wants to leave him when he withdraws his fingers. Something in him wants to _whine_ at being empty again.

His hands shake as he wets the plug, but he seems steadier than ever when he slides it into himself.

Fuck, it feels different, it feels _strange,_ it’s different from his fingers but also sort of good but a little weird but mostly good, and he can feel his brain going on a tangent about everything he’s feeling and he doesn’t know how to re-center himself.

He tries to find the angle again as he works the plug into himself. He takes it slowly, it’s his first time doing this but he knows it won’t end well if he rushes it, even if he dearly wants just _get there_ and get it over with.

His cock leaks precum against his thigh. He feels himself press against the bars in a desperate attempt to get hard, but it’s no use.

He lets out an embarrassing moan when the plug rubs hard against his prostate. His body ruts haplessly, at the same time trying to _get more pleasure_ and trying to _get away from the intrusion._

“That’s a good boy,” Jaskier tells him. “Think you can do it?”

Geralt takes it as a challenge.

He finds that angle again and thrusts the plug in a steady rhythm. Not fast, but not as slowly as before either.

Every time it hits its mark, he feels like he’s dying.

Waves of sizzling pleasure roll through him like lava in his veins. He’s going melt into the cushions if he’s not careful.

An ocean of molten lava stirring up in a firestorm, exploding in his chest.

“I- I can’t-” he pants, hair sticking to his skin with sweat. _“Please,_ I just-”

He doesn’t know what he’s saying; he wants to cum, he wants to get it deeper, feel it deeper, he wants out of the cage, he wants to get hard, he wants to fucking die because he just feels so much all at once and it’s got nowhere to go, it’s all just trapped inside him and can’t get out.

He opens his eyes.

Lambert looks two seconds away from drooling all over himself, transfixed.

Eskel has something sharp and wild in his eyes and Geralt feels _trapped_ by his gaze.

Jaskier sips his tea, unaffected.

Geralt feels like he’s being pricked with a million needles all at once, but they’re focused only on his cock and he can’t say if it’s a good sensation or a bad sensation, and every time he thrusts the plug back into himself, it gets _better/worse._

He bites into a throw-pillow and feels his gut split open and his insides fall out as he cums.

His body quivers like a leaf in a hurricane; cum drips from his useless cock, dirtying the cage and making a mess of him. He lets the plug slide home, its base sitting snug in his crack.

And then, it feels like every part of him goes limp and numb, and he can’t fathom a reason for ever moving a single muscle ever again.

When he next manages to open his eyes, Jaskier sits on the floor before him. He feels a gentle hand run through his sweat-matted hair and move it out of his face.

“That was beautiful, darling,” Jaskier tells him in a whisper. “You were so beautiful, and you put on such a lovely show for me.”

“Hm…”

“I had another fun idea for you, love, but I understand if you rather go have a nap,” Jaskier continues softly, still petting him. “Do you want to hear it?”

Geralt makes an agreeing noise, still uncertain if his voice will obey him or not.

“Well, I was thinking you could help out Eskel and Lambert. They’ve been so good these last weeks, and you’d make _the best_ reward for them. Then I’d take your cage off for you, darling. How does that sound?”

It sounds...

It sounds _something._

_“Mmh.”_

“Or I’ll take your cage off now, and we’ll put you to bed for a bit. Would rather have that?”

Fuck, both options sound tempting.

And Geralt feels good. He feels like he’s still cumming, even after God knows how much time has passed.

And he wants to keep feeling good.

The plug feels amazing inside him and he wants to feel more of it, and he knows Eskel and Lambert will take care of him, will treat him all gentle and soft because its what he needs, he knows that despite how pent up and frustrated they might be, they will be good to him and make him feel good.

“Alright, give me one of those little groans for whichever you want. Do you want to go to bed now?”

Geralt stays silent, looking at Jaskier in a daze of lingering pleasure.

“Or do you want to reward Eskel and Lambert?”

_“Hmm…”_

He watches Jaskier smile.

Jaskier leans in; Geralt hums again, at the soft kisses Jaskier presses to his face and how he pets his hair and whispers soft things to him.

“Give it a minute, dear, I just need to get the boys ready, then they’ll be right with you, darling, don’t worry, just breathe for us.”

Jaskier gives him a last kiss, then moves away.

Geralt lets his eyes fall shut. He doesn’t care about anything other than breathing because that is the only task he has been given.

He listens to Jaskier talk, but he can’t really be bothered to figure out what words he is saying. Then there is some scuffling, and it almost sounds as though there is a fight going on, and knowing Jaskier, he probably _would_ make Eskel and Lambert fight over it.

“Hey, Geralt,” a low voice says to him in a little bit.

He’s not sure how much time has passed; it feels like he may have dosed off for a minute or two. But he isn’t so far gone that he doesn’t recognize Eskel’s voice.

 _“Eskel,”_ he mumbles.

“That’s right,” Eskel says to him. “I’m gonna move you a little, is that alright? Just get you a little more comfortable, yeah?”

Geralt gives him a slow nod.

Then with the help of Eskel’s big, warm hands, Geralt rolls onto his front, clinging to the throw-pillow he rests his head on.

“There you go, love,” Eskel continues, as his hands pet down Geralt’s back. “Put your hand up here, yeah? And just tap out if you need to stop. Okay?”

He takes Geralt’s right wrist and guides his hand from the pillow to the arm of the couch, where he grabs on tightly instead. Geralt nods, understanding that a tap-out will be much easier for him than actually _saying_ anything because God knows he still doesn’t trust his fucking voice.

“Alright, love, I’ll take care of you,” the other man tells him.

Hands on his back again, so warm and big, and a mouth pressing kisses down his spine. Tugging on the plug makes him moan and grind into the couch cushions. The cage presses into his body, caught between him and the couch, but he doesn’t mind it, it’s a grounding feeling.

Fuck, he bites into the pillow again when the plug slips out of him.

There are more kisses along his back, one hand petting his flank, and then _fingers that aren’t his own are pushing into him._ He feels his eyes go wide and the breath catches in his throat.

“You did so well, love,” Eskel whispers to him. “Got yourself open so nicely. I think you’ll fit me so nicely.”

He bites harder; the fingers slip out too, and then, and then, oh, God, and then he feels Eskel’s cock pushing insistently against his rim, and he can hardly breathe as it enters him. Fuck, it feels _big,_ he knows how big it is but it feels much bigger than it actually is when it’s _inside_ him.

 _“Fuck,_ you feel good, Geralt, feel so fuckin’ good, been waitin’ for somethin’ like this for three fuckin’ weeks and fuck, this virgin hole’s the best fuckin’ reward I could ever fuckin’ hope for.”

Geralt thinks he’s going split in half when Eskel slides all the way so deep inside him, but at the same time, he burns alive with _pleasure_ as lava floods his veins again. He feels Eskel pant against his ear, hovering over him.

Sharp teeth bite into his shoulder and he moans through a mouthful of pillow.

Eskel lingers, not moving, only relishing, and Geralt can’t blame him; he loves it too. He can’t believe how full he feels, how open and vulnerable but _protected_ at the same time by how Eskel hangs over him, shielding him with his own body.

“I’m gonna move, love,” Eskel whispers, detaching his teeth from where there will surely bloom a dark bruise. “Tap out, love, whenever you need it, I’ll stop, I’ll stop when you need it, just gimme the signal, I’ll be good.”

And Geralt believes him.

He spits out the spit-soaked pillow to pant for air.

Eskel does move.

He pulls out slowly and pushes back in just as slowly, taking his time, enjoying the pleasure he’s been denied for weeks. His cock slides _incessantly_ against Geralt’s prostate with every little motion; the pleasure comes in never-ending waves and pulses.

It makes everything in the world seem soft and fuzzy around the edges. He can’t see straight. He can’t feel anything beyond how Eskel fills him and the pleasure that comes from Eskel filling him.

It builds, it builds in a sharp but steady curve towards another orgasm and Geralt can just fucking _tell_ that this, _this_ will be the best goddamn orgasm he has ever had. He can feel it just from the build. The pleasure is just so much stronger, so much more _intense_ than it has ever been before.

“God, _fuck,_ Geralt, I’m gonna cum, love, I’m gonna cum inside you, feel so good, love,” the man grunts above him.

Geralt feels completely dead to the world; and somehow he gets even dead-er, when Eskel picks up the pace, when he gets frantic, thrusting wildly, skin slapping skin, stabbing pleasure into Geralt’s every nerve.

 _“Jas,_ Jas, please, I gotta cum,” Eskel begs. “I gotta cum, Jas, lemme cum, I can’t- _fuck, I can’t-”_

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Jaskier’s voice comes out of nowhere. “You can cum. You’ve earned it.”

Geralt moans as Eskel bears down on him, weighs on him, almost fully laying on him, fucking into him with frantic little snaps of his hips.

He can _feel_ Eskel cumming into him. He can _feel_ how his cock twitches and throbs and he can _feel_ the cum spill into him, and he can’t believe how incredible it is. He can’t believe he hasn’t been doing this for years, he’s missed so much, he never wants this to stop, and fuck, oh, God, now Lambert’s up next and he’ll get to feel it all over again.

Kisses along his shoulder, hot breaths on his skin.

“Thank you, love,” Eskel whispers. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, you felt so good, just perfect, thank you.”

Geralt moans as Eskel withdraws. He tries not to feel upset when Eskel’s heavy presence disappears from above him; he knows Lambert will be there soon, he won’t be alone for long.

And he isn’t. It’s only a moment before Lambert is there, climbing onto the couch and placing himself on top of Geralt, shielding him again.

“Looks so beautiful, love,” Lambert says softly. “Took him so well, can’t wait to feel you like that now too.”

Geralt _whines,_ writhing under him. He’s _boneless._ His body’s turned into jelly. There is _nothing_ left in the world beyond _brilliant pleasure._

Before he knows it, Lambert is bottoming out in him and Geralt’s eyes roll back in his head.

Lambert moves so differently from Eskel. His motions are quick and jerky, rapid ruts like an animal doing it not out of pleasure but only out of instinct, every move an answer to a bone-deep call for breeding, and Geralt does not mind at all.

In the short time since Eskel left him, that building orgasm has died off like a candle going out; the flame is there, and in the next moment, it’s suddenly all gone. But shit, Lambert’s crazed, hungry fucking is working him back towards that peak, the summit of a seemingly unclimbable mountain.

The cage doesn’t even matter anymore. He couldn’t care less about it. With or without it, he will cum. Like a runaway train, it just can’t be stopped.

Geralt can hear himself whining like a bitch in heat, and isn’t that fitting, when he’s getting fucked like an animal?

Fuck, his whorey noises, the sound of skin hitting skin, the wet squelch of his hole being abused, it’s like music to his ears.

He doesn’t care at all when Lambert takes a fistful of his hair and _pulls._ Indeed, another dirty moan leaves him at the sharp pain that stings his scalp.

“Fuck, that’s beautiful, love,” Lambert grunts somewhere behind him. “Beautiful like this, what a beautiful thing you are, feel so good.”

Geralt could swear he cums, but he honestly isn’t sure; it’s so hard to tell anymore. The pleasure is just _so much_ and he can’t tell if he’s reached the peak of another orgasm, or is he’s still climbing.

Lambert’s thrusts stutter, hips jerking, and he pushes in deep as he spills. He mouths at Geralt’s back, hands petting his hair now instead of pulling, whispering sweet things to him.

“So good, you’re so good, did so good,” he repeats over and over.

And Geralt knows it’s true.

When Lambert pulls out, Geralt shivers. It’s strange to be empty now, when not long ago _being full_ had been the strange thing.

But so many warm, gentle hands touch him, and they lift him and move him, and he can breathe easier when they put him on his back instead. His body feels fuzzy; everything seems hazy and unclear.

“My sweet little Geralt… Oh, you sweet, sweet, lovely man, you’re absolutely perfect.”

 _“Mmmh,”_ is all the answer he can give Jaskier.

Something touches his cock and it’s suddenly _so very much all at once,_ and he can only groan and try to move, and he’s not really sure but it feels like he might somehow be flapping his arms around.

Jaskier hushes him softly, more hands pet his body. “No, no, sweetheart, don’t worry, I’m just taking the cage off, darling, just relax for me, love.”

The cage? Oh, right, the cage. Yes, that sounds good. He lets himself relax again.

“There you go, love, that’s it,” Jaskier says as there is some more touching on Geralt’s tender cock. “That’s it, darling, let’s get you to bed, sweet thing. Get you some good rest.”

But _no…_ Geralt doesn’t _want_ to go to bed yet, he’s tired and worn but he doesn’t want to go to bed yet because he hasn’t been good to Jaskier yet, he’s been good to Eskel and to Lambert but not to Jaskier, and Jaskier needs a reward too, Jaskier needs the biggest reward.

His arms flail, he reaches blindly until he finds the soft silk of Jaskier’s shirt and he grabs it tight and pulls him in and hugs him.

“No, no, love, no more, you need your rest, dear.”

Hm… Maybe Jaskier’s right, Jaskier’s always right, so maybe he’s right about this too. Hm, yeah, maybe he’s right.

Geralt lets him go again.

Then someone picks him up. Which is _weird,_ because it’s been _years_ since someone carried him or even just _tried_ to lift him because he is a rather big man.

And then he’s laying down again? Did they put him back on the couch? Mh, no, wait, this isn’t the couch. It’s bigger. And softer. Oh, it’s bed. They put him in bed. Nice. That’s nice.

 _Ew,_ something wet touches him; touches him all over. But he understands in a minute, it’s just cleaning him, taking care of him, making sure there’s no mess, that’s also nice.

Oh, this is very nice too, when someone lays down with him and hugs him.

“You should tell him.”

Hm, that’s Lambert’s voice. What’s he talking about?

“I know. He deserves to know.”

And Jaskier too. What’s the matter?

“Maybe i should do it.” Eskel? “We’ve known each other since we were kids. Maybe he’ll take it better, coming from me.”

Take _what_ better? Hm, maybe he just missed the start of the conversation.

“Maybe. Either way, the truth has to come out. The way we are now... It can’t continue. Not if he doesn’t know.” What’s Jaskier saying?

“Not today. Some other day, but not now. He needs to rest.” Lambert? _What is happening?_

“Yes. I... I have a few things I need to finish. We got a little distracted, didnt we? I trust you two will take care of him?”

“Of course.”

The bed dips, another person lays down and wraps around him. Smells like Lambert. It’s nice to be cuddled between Eskel and Lambert like this, even if that conversation clouds Geralt’s mind _already_ foggy mind.

The door shuts, Jaskier leaving.

“Mmmh... Tell me what?” Geralt grunts.

He isn’t sure if the conversation happened a minute ago, or an hour ago. Honestly, it could be either. It’s difficult to make sense of the passage of time.

“You heard?” Eskel says softly, not far from Geralt’s ear.

“Lil bit,” he mumbles.

“Right. Well.” Eskel clears his throat. “Not now. Rest first, alright? We’ll get to it later.”

Geralt grunts.

A part of him wants to worry and wonder; a tiny little part that has been rendered almost fully mute by all the overwhelming sensations he was just put through.

But he’s too fuzzy and messy in the head to really _think_ at all right now.

He can think later.


End file.
